


i'm dying to find a lookalike

by graysku11



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Angst, somehow catra is never mentioned, sorry i'll write a happy ending next time, title from lookalike by conan gray, written before the trailer was released oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graysku11/pseuds/graysku11
Summary: Adora stares through red-rimmed eyes at her reflection in the dusty mirror. It’s been three days, seven hours, two minutes, and forty-four seconds since the Sword of Protection broke, and she hasn’t felt like herself since. It’s only fitting that the image staring back at her looks nothing like she used to.[Or, Adora isn’t who she used to be. She’s trying to fix that.]
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	i'm dying to find a lookalike

**Author's Note:**

> my first published fic!! i'm open to any feedback, feel free to leave a comment :))
> 
> inspired by noelle's [gorg art <3 ](https://twitter.com/Gingerhazing/status/1198679391569494016)

Adora breaks her gaze from the watch she’s strapped around her wrist, a kind of placeholder for the bracer that is no longer there. It’s been three days, two hours, sixteen minutes, and twenty-four seconds (last she checked) since all hell broke loose, and as much as she and Bow had sworn to somehow rescue Glimmer and save the universe, it took them the better part of two days to make it back to Bright Moon, and things haven’t improved since. 

Chaos is erupting around Etheria, even though Horde Prime’s army refrains from engaging, instead hovering menacingly in the skies like so many venomous wasps. Without Glimmer, it seems that everyone is in a panic. Micah is still technically king, but no one had even known he was alive, and he hasn’t been a part of society for years on end, which is generally an ineffective ruling strategy. The Horde is defeated, but an unforeseen problem has arisen: the kingdoms are arguing over who should be in charge of Etheria until (they hope) Glimmer returns. Yesterday, a Salinean refugee staying in the Kingdom of Snows got in trouble for blasting boiling water at a statue of Frosta because one of her icy subjects claimed that her youth made her a better candidate, whereas the Salinean obviously supported the immense power of “Sea-Ra”.

Adora used to care about Mermista _infringing on her brand_ , but now she just flinches a little every time she hears the nickname, thinking someone is calling her. No official announcement has been made concerning She-Ra’s status, but she hasn’t made an appearance since Horde Prime’s fleet did. It’s safe to say that the people who don’t know, a.k.a. everyone other than Bow, are beginning to suspect something. Maybe, Adora thinks, the princesses felt something when she stopped the weapon from firing. Maybe not. No one has said anything to her. She’s not sure if it matters whether people know that She-Ra’s gone, but she is certain that it matters that she _is_. It feels like every five seconds, a new problem is popping up that She-Ra could have solved in the next few, and Adora can’t seem to come up with a solution to any of them. 

She and Bow are running through the Whispering Woods, in search of a rogue Horde robot reported to be on the loose, when its unmistakable, crashing steps sound behind them. Adora whirls, hand where her bracer should have been. “For the honor -” _Shit_. She falls silent, and in the time it takes for her to realize her mistake and remove her hand from her now semi-mangled watch, the robot is upon them. 

As it bears down on them, its awful stomping getting closer by the second, Adora finds herself frozen, unable to do or say anything, haunted by the words she had almost spoken. _What is_ wrong _with you? There is no She-Ra. Quit being useless and do something, for the love of Etheria!_ Meanwhile, Bow pulls out his bow and arrows and makes a move to run away, only to glance back and see that she hasn’t followed. 

“A-Adora? Hey! We kinda gotta go!” 

At his words, she starts, as if broken from a trance, and follows him as fast as she can. (As she runs, she can’t help but feel how painfully short her strides are, how weak her muscles feel as lactic acid builds up, how much she relied upon the extra boost that She-Ra provided.) They barely make it out alive, escaping only by sheer luck; Bow shoots a water arrow at, apparently, the one non-waterproof spot on the whole contraption. 

\---

Back at Bright Moon, Adora staggers into her room in a daze. What is _wrong_ with her? Ever since the sword broke, she hasn’t been able to think straight, and it doesn’t make any sense. After all, she’d been perfectly fine without it for the first eighteen-plus years of her life. What difference did one stupid sharp object make? She needed to fix this, somehow. But how was she supposed to get back the ability to turn into a giant princess? It would take a miracle. _Maybe_ , she thinks, _Shadow Weaver can finally be useful for once_.

\---

Adora stares through red-rimmed eyes at her reflection in the dusty mirror. It’s been three days, seven hours, two minutes, and forty-four seconds since the Sword of Protection broke, and she hasn’t felt like herself since. It’s only fitting that the image staring back at her looks nothing like she used to. Really, she’d asked Shadow Weaver to go further than she had, but the sorceress had refused.

_“Oh, child, I may wield the power of magic, but there are some things even I cannot do. If I were to try that… I don’t know what the consequences would be.”_

_“I don’t care. Do it. Please.”_

_“I’m not going to tell you again, Adora. I cannot, should not, and will not. But I do have a special plant I’ve been cultivating lately that might be able to help you out…”_

_“Uh…,” she had said, because even in her desperation, she seemed to recall Bow telling her something about magical plants and losing one’s sense of reality…_

_“Not_ that _kind of magical plant,” she had replied, with a slow, grating laugh. “Just try it. You’ll see.”_

 _After half an hour of pacing, Adora had finally decided to make use of the shimmering golden flowers Shadow Weaver had pressed into her hand, telling her to use them the next time she bathed. So she had gotten into the shower, her usual, regimented three-minute cleanings long forgotten in favor of using an extended one to forget everything else._ Soft _, she thought. The old Adora would never waste this much time on a stupid shower. For that matter, She-Ra had always showed up squeaky clean whenever she transformed, even if she had previously been covered in dirt and mud. Nevertheless, she crumbled the petals of the magical plant in her hands, rubbed them together with the water streaming down from above her, and ran her hands through her hair, wondering at the tingling sensation that immediately ran down her scalp._

She can’t stop glancing at herself in the mirror, the ghost of the girl she had been nowhere to be seen. Her ponytail holder had gotten lost after the whole Heart of Etheria ordeal, and she hasn’t bothered to find a new one since, leaving her with a strange sensation of emptiness where a familiar tension used to pull at her. Adora’s _poof_ , as her friends, at least her old ones, used to call the way she brushed back her bangs, is no longer visible with her hair down. It’s obvious now that it’s longer than it has been in forever, thanks to no longer having required trims every three months. But she feels a little closer to She-Ra with her hair bleached that same light gold color, a few shades lighter than her old dirty blonde. Her hair hangs heavy on her head, though, in a different way than it used to. Impulsively, she pulls out the small silver pocketknife, pitiful in comparison to the Sword of Protection or even one of its fragments, that she’s taken to tucking in her jacket. 

With a few swipes of the blade and some careful mirror-work, her hair is maybe five inches shorter. Adora runs a hand through her locks, marveling at how little time it takes her fingers to reach the air that tickles her shoulders now, the way it did when her ponytail was tied up. 

She smiles, slightly, for the first time in at the very least three days, seven hours, thirteen minutes and fifteen seconds.

**Author's Note:**

> you can also yell at me at @forcecaptains on tumblr


End file.
